


Virtual Insanity

by Luminara



Category: Mass Effect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luminara/pseuds/Luminara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly a year after the defeat of the Reapers, Shepard is determined to find the truth about what happened on the Citadel and how Cerberus was really involved. Unfortunately the Alliance has other ideas, and Shepard hopes for rescue from an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

She dreamed of them…all of them.  Every night, without fail.

They were all reminders of her failure, her weakness.   Friends, soldiers, those loved and lost followed her beyond the veil of her memories and into the realm of nightmares.  At times she felt like a goddammed drell, replaying and reliving past conversations, horrific battles…the loss of comrades…and recalling every detail.  Memories tore away her mind, piece by fragmented piece, leaving her raw and hapless.  She was owned, besieged by the vestige of those who were seeking hope.

The Savior of the galaxy.  It was a ridiculous faith.  It was disillusionment, loss of control that accepted this in penance.  They looked to her as if she were the daughter of God, come to redeem them all and heal the worlds.  Regardless of the truth, she understood what it meant to be a symbol.  She would be a relic, she would be whatever duty called her to be, even as it slowly destroyed her.

As if she thought this war would end happily; soldiers rejoicing in the streets, families reunited, friends celebrating survival, all species coming together against a common foe…Commander Shepard, once again sacrificing herself for the continuation of life.  The true breadth of this war had disparaged even the most enduring of species.

The familiar chirp of her message terminal broke into her consciousness, and she reluctantly sat up to check it.  There was the usual agenda posted in her messages, along with instructions of what to wear, what other dignitaries she should expect to encounter and a curt reminder of what words not to use in the presence of a salarian.  She laughed at that one, remembering just yesterday asking the salarian ambassador if he could touch his eyeball with his tongue.  She was testing her restraints, taking her freedoms and hoping to stretch her boundaries just a bit.  It was only whispered in his ear after a mutually awkward embrace during the ceremony of a mating contract.  Shepard had been asked to officiate the proceedings.

She knew the Alliance still didn’t trust her, especially after the truth of what the Illusive Man had done to her became known.  Dr. Chakwas had unknowingly betrayed one of her oldest friends into the arms of their allies.  There was no point in placing blame or being angry.  Shepherd could have made the same unwitting mistake in the doctor’s place.

There was, however, another message. ***CLAIM YOUR FREE PRIZE!*** it read in the subject line.  The scrubbers who watched her messages usually filtered out any junk mail, and somehow she heard a familiar voice read those words in her mind.  She opened the message.  Inside there was a link to an extranet site and the words “Enter the password.”  The link took her to a site that was blank.  The text “Enter the password” appeared on the screen and flashed repeatedly.  A memory prompted her response.

“Silence is golden,” she whispered.  Suddenly her omni-tool came alive and was flooded with text, images, sounds of static.  She glanced around the room, wondering what her watchers would think of her omni-tool going berserk.  No one came rushing in, however.  She heard a familiar voice, but this time it wasn’t in her head.

“Hey, Shep,” her omni-tool spoke to her.

“Kasumi?”  Her eyes darted feverishly about the room before settling on the screen of her omni-tool.  She cradled it in her other arm, as if to protect the surprising communication from those she knew would be watching her.  Kasumi’s face was garbled, but her mischievous grin brought comfort to the former Commander.

“Yeah, how are you?  Sorry about this.  It was the only way to talk.”

“I knew you were good at hacking, but damn…this must have taken some time!”

“Oh you flatterer!” she quipped, that familiar lilt in her voice.

“You sure they can’t hear us?  My room is full of-” 

“Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of that.  But listen, Shep, we don’t have much time.  We need to know, do you want help?”  Shepard considered what her friend was asking.  Did she feel trapped?  Yes.  Did she hate this place?  Yes.  Did she hate the constant surveillance, the lack of privacy?  Hell yes.

Did she want to leave?

She wasn’t sure.  The Alliance made it seem like they were keeping her safe from the galaxy, but she felt that the roles were actually reversed.  She covered her eyes from the blaring orange glow of the omni-tool, deep in thought.

But if she didn’t take this chance, possibly the only chance, she would lose the opportunity of finding the answers she sought.  She was a woman of action, direct and forward.  Move onward or ship out.  Nothing was happening in the day to day bleariness of unmemorable dignitaries to meet, treaties to witness, ribbons to cut.  A soldier to the core, this was not the life for her.  She had resigned to it as some sort of self-punishment, but knowingly undeserved.  Shepard had given the galaxy everything, fought and died, then fought some more.  If anything, the galaxy owed her.  Big time.

“Yeah, Kasumi.  Whatever it takes to get me out of this hell hole.”  She would worry about the consequences later.  There was only one desire vested in her now.  Knowledge.

“Alright, Shepard,” she responded.  “Just be ready for some fun two days from now.”

“Always ready and able,” Shepard answered.  The transmission ended, and she was left staring into the darkness in her quarters, the dull orange glow of her omni-tool casting grievous shadows on her face.  It was a virulent hope, but it was enthralling.

We?  The casual mention of her former companions now reverberated in her mind.  She had passed over the reference in the heat of the conversation.  Shepard had not been allowed contact with any of her former comrades, much less any knowledge of their well-being.  Need-to-know basis…the military’s most ridiculous cop-out.  And now Kasumi would not even mention any names.  A fleeting seed of anger began to take root, but Shepard dismissed it almost immediately.  Kasumi was probably protecting them, in case the knowledge of this communication ever reached the Alliance, or other governments.  It probably would, after news of her impending disappearance would be known.

She thought of them now, the friends who had joined her in the fight against Sovereign, the Collectors and the Reapers.  Who had survived?  Where were they, what were they doing?  What did they think of her now, playing lapdog for the Alliance?

The thought of escape cured her of nightmares, if only because she couldn’t sleep.  It would suffice, momentarily, as something to live for, a reason for her continued existence.  The Shepard she had been these months after the defeat of the Reapers may has well been a statue, a VI giving speeches and shaking hands in her name.  Nothing could sate her desire for the truth, what had really happened up there on the Citadel.  How she had survived and beat impossible odds yet again.  The answers had to be out there, somewhere, and she needed them, just as Kasumi needed Keji’s grey box, Miranda had to protect her sister, as Jack needed to destroy the facility that had tortured her in her childhood.

Shepard had spent her previous lives sacrificing herself for other people.  It was time she lived selfishly and got what she needed for a change.  She had heard of people getting second chances, but who was awarded a third?  She could inspire loyalty in the most sordid mercenary, the militant vigilante, the selfless assassin.  The truth was out there, calling to her from all corners of the vast expanse of the galaxy.

And she knew she would have to go into the lair of the demon to begin her search.

_Cerberus._


	2. Chapter 2

After a sleepless night, all Shepard had on her mind was her impending escape.  It was well that her agenda only consisted of a photo-op and an elementary school opening.  The rest of her time was spent in PT, and a meeting with her favorite person…the military psychologist.  The woman was irrationally perceptive, and Shepard surmised dark haired woman was put there solely to get under her skin.

Her friendly escorts (Brick and Wall, she dubbed them) brought her to a room with two chairs, a table, and dimmed lighting.  A two-way mirror was the only thing that could be labeled a decoration on the wall.  For all she knew there were only three rooms in the facility – her quarters, the gym and this dazzling bright spot in her daily adventure.  Everything around her was bland – low stimuli, meant to focus the mind inward.  Even her guards were decked out in grey and black uniforms instead of crisp Alliance blues.

I thought therapists were supposed to elicit calm, she thought when she entered the room and saw the doctor waiting for her.  The woman had never even offered her name, never tried to befriend Shepard in the way shrinks usually do.  Gain your trust, express empathy, twist your words and thoughts until you aren’t sure what you think anymore.  How many months had this routine been repeated?  She couldn’t be sure, of course, since they had a habit of sedating her if there were no impending activities, or if she would be traveling to a new location.  The only thing that hinted that she may still be with the Alliance were the regular transmissions from Admiral Hackett updating her on the rebuilding of Earth after the war with the Reapers.  She once had a supervised visit from him while in the Alliance hospital.  Questions exploded from her mouth about her squad, the Normandy crew, but he only shook his head and replied that he had no information for her. 

That night she pinged their names into her omni-tool.

**James Vega – No data.**

**Kenneth Donnelly – No data.**

**Jeff Moreau – No data.**

**Samantha Traynor – No data.**

It was like they had never even existed.

**Kaiden Alenko –**

She stopped before selecting the search function, cold fear keeping her trembling fingers from completing the action.  Kaiden had been, well, at the end, he had been her anchor.  His presence had helped keep the bad memories at bay and reminded her of what she fought for, of why she kept fighting when others would simply give up.

“Sleep well?” the doctor asked.  Shepard sat on a low-backed sofa chair across from her, legs spread apart and arms resting on top of them.  She leaned forward and lifted her gaze to the android of a woman before her.

“Fine, thanks,” she replied coolly.  They had constant monitors on her at all times, even at night.  Unless Kasumi had been able to completely hack their systems and give them an uninterrupted but false feed, they must have known something was up.

“Then you won’t mind continuing on from last time, will you?”

“What, no puppets today?”

“Really, Shepard.  You must understand…the sooner you receive psychiatric clearance, the sooner you can return to military life, or civilian life if you wish.”

“Then tell me what you want me to say so we can both get the hell out of here.”

“You know it does not work that way.  We need to be sure your head is in the right place.  You went through very traumatic events, and it is understandable that you – ”

_Then tell me what in the fucking hell happened to my crew!  My friends!_

“–  feel as if you are being treated unfairly, but we have your, and humanity’s, best interests at heart.”  Where had she heard that one before? 

Shepard gave a slow nod of ascent.  Inside she was empty, a husk of humanity’s once beloved hero.  When she had saved the Citadel from Sovereign, all those years ago, they had merely brushed her aside and painted the Reaper crisis as a mere Geth incursion.  Now it seemed they were trying to eradicate any evidence the Reapers had existed at all.

Including her.

And how was this possible, seeing as entire planets had been ravaged?  Human colonies destroyed, major cities all across Earth had fallen?  No one could forget what happened.  Why was she a prisoner?

“Shall we continue, Shepard?”

“Refresh my memory.”  She leaned back in the chair, folded her arms and closed her eyes.

“Your time with Cerberus.  The companions aboard your…vigilante vessel.”  The words were enunciated with the same enumerative quality one might give the term ‘volus exotic dancer’.

“You’ll have to be more specific, doctor.”  Contempt.  It was all she had to fight them.  A battle-fire had been reduced to a solitary ember but it had endured.  She was a survivor, and despite the cowardice of the passions around her, she would continue to burn.  To wait.  Opening her eyes, she gave the doctor the glare of a hungry varren about to seize its prey.

The doctor’s stoic eyes slipped momentarily, but it was enough to bring a jolt of pleasure to Shepard.  She always had a knack for intimidation. 

“Mordin Solus, the salarian.  Tell me about him.”

_“Commander.  Must speak with you.  Important.”_

_“What is it Mordin?”_

_“Have been coordinating with EDI on Reaper IFF.  Interesting hypothesis.”_

_“Well, what is it?”_

_“Reaper IFF bears similar signature to old Prothean data streams.  Analog.  Will need to coordinate with Prothean expert to be sure.”_

_“Analog?  How is that possible?”_

_“Unknown.  But true.  Radio signals traveling into space, bouncing off of planets, asteroids, even concentrated dark matter.”_

_“Can you trace them back to the source?”_

_“Possible.  Will take time.  Signals have been travelling through space for millennia.  Interference a problem.  Still piecing fragments together.”_

_“Why would the IFF match the Prothean signals?”_

_“Reapers take data along with destruction of species.  Builds upon it, adds it to their own.  Culmination of all intelligent life and their experience.”_

_“But why would the Reapers want this?  Why map it to their IFF?”_

_“Think, commander.  Reapers dominate other species.  Manipulate them into technological advances way before their time.  Collect their ideas, put them together, cycle after cycle.  Parade their intelligence like…”_

_“A trophy.”_

The memory flashed like lightning in her mind, leaving a burning white light behind her eyes.  Shepard regarded the woman before her, and the doctor arched a patient but determined eyebrow.   How long had she been silent?




“The salarian,” she prompted again.

“He’s dead.”  And so went the game they played.  The doctor provoking reactions and Shepard only giving half-answers.  These torture sessions only lasted a few hours, but the mental exhaustion would threaten to crush her and pull her underground like a thresher maw.  They would break her, eventually, and she knew it.  An ordinary man would have given in long ago, but Shepard…she was defiant, to the last.

There was a midday meal and then it was on to the gym where Shepard would force her frustration out through her muscles and into any piece of equipment within her reach.  If it wasn’t for this daily ritual, her façade of complete control would have probably shattered months ago.  This had been their one concession to her, and the one thing they could threaten to take away if she behaved badly in her public appearances.

She dressed for the evening in the darkness, but she knew that the infrared cameras could still see her outline in the dark.  It was unnerving, but she could do nothing about it.  Modesty and prudishness never survived long on deep space missions, but these people were invasive, constantly looking for the crack in her shields to exploit and finally have her under complete control.  When she turned the lights back on, she signaled to her hosts that she was ready.  Before they entered, she gazed into the full-length mirror, and instantly regretted it.

Same blazing red hair, same grey eyes.  But they had ruined her, somehow.  They had taken her amp long ago, and her perception was skewed.  The fearless resolve that emanated from her posture became downcast eyes, hunched shoulders, a constant shifting of weight from one leg to the other.  Clipped knocking on the door brought her back and they entered and sedated her for the voyage.

There was a live extranet feed of the elementary school opening, and Shepard was there, living symbol of the Systems Alliance and all their grandeur.  She gave nods and acknowledgments to all the right people, shook hands with figureheads and even starred in a vid, reading a book to a class of children.  The first school to re-open since the war, a sign that normalcy was returning to Earth.  A part of her was proud to be there, to herald in this next step of humanity’s reclaiming their planet, of moving on.

And a very, very small part of her wanted to grab the nearest gun and go on a rampage through the crowds. 

She hated to think that the only thing that stayed her hand was the thought that in two days, Kasumi was coming for her.  And she had said _we_.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The good doctor had called for her nearly seven days in a row, Shepard realized, though it was getting harder to keep track.  She hoped that they would leave her alone this morning.  Mentally preparing for her escape would command all her thoughts today, and she did not want to unconsciously betray anything to that brown-haired beast.

Unfortunately, at 0900 there was a knock on her door and Brick was there, his buddy Wall not too far behind.  They all knew the drill – and she followed him to the room at the end of the hallway where her nemesis was waiting for her.  Obviously they thought they were within reach of breaking her, relentlessly bludgeoning her with witless questions, searching for her shatterpoint.

“Shepard.  Are you well today?” the woman asked, her voice void of inflection.

“Fine.  And you?”  Shepard sat in her low-backed chair, calm etched on her face.

The doctor eyed her quizzically, the lack of her usual snarkiness not lost on her.  “I am well.”

“You know, you never gave me a name.  What am I supposed to call you?” she asked curiously.

“My name is irrelevant here, Shepard.” The doctor looked down at her datapad, skimming through text.

“But how should I refer to you?  You know, when you aren’t here.”

“I fail to imagine a situation where you have need of speaking about me.”

“You never know.  I suppose I could just say the doctor with the shit-colored hair, or with the nasty mole above her lip, or the woman with breath so bad she’d make a krogan wince.”  There it was.  The doctor smiled momentarily, but her features returned to their stoic set in a flash.

“Feeling combative, I see.”

“I have plenty more of them.”

“Very well, Shepard.  I will concede.  I am Doctor Janice Metrovsky.”

“No Earth accent.  Are you from a colony world?” Shepard went on, not missing a beat.

“No, I grew up the Citadel,” Metrovsky replied absently.

“Ah, a privileged child.  And how was your home, when you last left it?”

“My home was destroyed, thanks to –” She then stopped, and cleared her throat.  Shepard had won that round, but she knew she would pay dearly for that slip of information later.

“Proceed with your torture, Doctor Metrovsky.”  Shepard gestured the woman to move forward, assuming her casual posture and leaned forward with elbows on her knees.  It was a defensive stance, and her shields were ready.

“Let us discuss another of your former companions, shall we?”

Shepard sighed.  Who would it be this time?  Perhaps Garrus Vakarian, her right-hand man, or maybe Liara T’soni, her closest friend, had found their way onto the doctor’s list.  They had seemed more interested in the aliens on her ship than anyone else.  Shepard had always wondered what the other Alliance personnel said about her when they were debriefed.  Was anyone else from her ship being treated the same way?  She knew continuing this train of thought would only lead to madness, as she had tormented herself during the quiet hours of the night thinking about them, what had become of them. 

If she really had saved them all, or if they had all died while she lived. 

“Fine, whatever,” she replied.  She mimicked defeat in her voice, wondering what card the doctor would play next.  Shepard watched her as she scanned through text on her datapad, and then looked up at her.

“Thane Krios.”

_The hum of the life support systems steadied her.  What was she doing here?  And why did she feel apprehensive?  It seemed instinctual, after a mission, to come and talk to Thane.  His deep, buzzing voice was soothing, and his words always offered reassurance._

_“Shepard.  Need something?” he asked, as he always did.  She walked to the viewport and folded her hands behind her back._

_“That certainly could have gone better.”  She was still reeling from Zaeed’s contract mission, where they attempted to hunt down a mercenary that had betrayed him.  “I’ve never met anyone so driven by revenge - so much so that they would destroy themselves for a change to get back at their enemies.  Was his life’s entire meaning is wrapped up in fulfilling this masochistic fantasy?”_

_“Vengeance is different for each person.  It can be a matter of honor, a requirement of social stigma.  It can also come from pain, from powerful memories that never abate.” Thane’s subaqueous voice resonated calm and control throughout the room._

_She considered his declaration amidst her own torrent of thoughts.  Yes, she had wanted revenge, had dreamed about what she would do to the Batarian slavers that attacked Mindoir.  But she had never acted on it, and never would.  Sometimes it seemed nothing more than a past life, even someone else’s tragedy that she’d watched in a news vid._

_“Sometimes, it is loss,” he continued.  “And in losing everything, a man can lose himself, become someone different.  Zaeed tells many stories of war, of battles.  One may wonder what came before his days of glory and why he never speaks of anything but fighting.”  She turned to look at Thane who was now standing next to her, gazing out into the void of space._

_“Have you never dreamed of revenge, Shepard?”_

_“I think everyone has at some point, no matter how trivial the reason.”  Practical jokes between recruits, stolen rations, insults…the list was endless._

_“Consider the protection of others.  If your retaliation against someone who wronged you could keep them from repeating those crimes towards others, would you pursue them?”_

_“Well yes, protecting people is what I do.”  She had a feeling there was more beyond the surface of the question._

_“Would your heart be free of revenge?”_

_“I…” And she wondered, if she could see those slavers again, what would she do in the guise of stopping them from hurting others?  The faces of her neighbors, friends and family on Mindoir were a blur of fear, distress, terror; that was the chilling final memory of them which would remain with her forever.  Even though she knew it would not bring them back, she could imagine herself taking her sweet time to finish off those batarian assholes, and the thought of it brought her immeasurable pleasure.  Her biotic senses twitched, ached for action, and she felt the arc of unguarded energy threaten to release itself without her command._

_“No.”  She was honest; she knew she could not judge anyone else for wanting something she had always been denied.  There was a lingering silence between them now, and the hum in the background grounded her once again._

_Or was that Thane’s breathing?_

_After they had rescued Kolyat, Thane’s son, Shepard recalled their conversation.  He had lost his wife and child, had hunted down those who killed her, and abandoned his only son in an effort to protect him.  How would she have dealt with such a loss?  Could she judge him for it?_

_No, she had nothing but compassion for him._

_Thane._

Shepard leaned forward, coming out of the fading memory.  Her eyes were shroud in shadows, her features heavy and disparaged.  She could not even bring herself to disguise her reaction.  Her mask had slipped – and they had uncovered a weakness.

“He is…dead.”


End file.
